Chamomile
by Quillweave
Summary: Antoinetta Marie has found a new life in the Sanctuary, but that doesn't mean the memories of her old life have been left behind. All too familiar with nightmares, Vicente listens, and brews some tea. Warning for implicit noncon in Antoinetta's past, as referenced canonically in her ingame dialogue.


After two hundred years, he knew the Sanctuary well.

Vicente moved down the silent corridor with head tilted, keen senses picking up on the softest of sounds that orchestrated the night in this place. The dragging footsteps of the skeletal Guardian, keeping her eternal vigil. Scratches, their newest pet rat, scrabbling in the walls to nest. Snores, some gentle, some less so, but comforting in the rise and fall of his Family's breaths…

And sobs.

He stopped in place, eyes narrowing, turning towards the source. Not the dormitory, but towards the training hall. Muffled, feminine, halting. Not difficult to place.

Tears weren't an uncommon occurrence, within these walls. Whether out of frustration of a failed task, anger or guilt at punishment, or grief over a lost sibling. And many who found refuge here came with their own grief, personal reasons for quiet cries in the night, muffled in the safety of a pillow.

For all their cruelty, for all the image they made of silent killers of shadow, they were still mostly mortal. A restrained smirk, at that. _Mostly._

Still, it was odd she was out of bed. And she'd been here barely three days.

A little sigh and he made his way towards the girl, steps silent as the grave. She didn't even notice him when he approached, all curled up in a ball with her head in her hands, knotting and tangled between her fingers. Her shoulders hitched with every sob, rasping and hollow.

It would take time for her to adjust to this life, these changes, even as positive as they were. For a teenager, surely they were overwhelming. A little encouragement, perhaps a hot tea and she'd be well enough to send back to her bed.

"Antoinetta?"

Her head jerked up, eyes red-rimmed and wide, lip shaking. She hurriedly rubbed at them, trying to hide evidence of the obvious even as her voice shook. "F-f-fucking _Talos_ , y-you scared me. You all walk so quiet."

"As will you, in time." He offered a small smile, offering her a kerchief as she sniffled. Reluctantly she accepted, standing to blow her nose. "And I suggest you keep such names out of this place, of all places."

"Wha – oh. Yeah." A blink. She looked a mess – pointed chin trembling, pale skin red and blotchy from hard sobs. A ragged sigh as she ran a hand through her hair. "I – sir – is there something I'm s'posed to be doing?"

"Sleeping, I'd wager. Is everything alright?"

"It's fine." He'd come to recognize this response well, in his time with the underlings. Those stiffened shoulders, the quick response, the way their eyes would dart away. "I'm fine."

"I wish only to help, Sister."

"I'm _fine_ ," came the biting snarl in response, only shied by a quiet look in return. It never took much. He rarely even raised his voice. "… I don't want to talk about it."

"You know, of course, that if I were to give you a direct order to speak, you would be unable to deny me. The Tenets, Sister."

Her thin arms wrapped around herself, a shield. So thin. Lucien had said he'd found her half-starved and half-rabid before managing to recruit her. "… _Are_ you giving me the order?"

Something in the vampire's face softened. "No. If you are truly unable or unwilling to speak of it, then I can only hope you will come to me of your own accord, in time. We are your Family now, Antoinetta, bound by blood. But I will not force you." An incline of his head and he turned to leave her, stopping short at a call.

"Wait."

He turned, patient, expectant as she wrung her hands. A glance around the room, as though she feared someone else might be listening, before she hissed. "I – I can't sleep. I can't…"

"I have chamomile tea, in my quarters. Many find it soothing, helps them sleep."

Her golden curls bobbed as she shook her head, voice tight. "No, it's not, it's not like that. I _know_ why I can't sleep, and it's stupid, and it's…" He could almost see her tight swallow, see how her fingers dug into her arms. "… Breathing."

A frown of puzzlement. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Their breathing. I'm between Teinaava and Gregory and they both…" A hitch in her own breath. Even from here, he could hear her heart pump faster, hear the blood shooting through her body as adrenaline rose and her hands trembled. "They both do it so _loud_ , it feels right in my ear and it's not their fault but I can't, I just _can't_ …"

Understanding came with a heavy feeling of weight. His eyes closed for a moment as he absorbed this, as bittersweet empathy trickled in. _Ah._

"Come with me, Sister."

This time she obeyed without argument, trailing his footsteps back to her quarters, holding herself all the while. Protecting herself, because even here she couldn't yet feel safe. Not with her Family, not in these stone walls, not even in her own slender frame.

He didn't say a word. Simply gestured for her to sit as he prepared tea, serving hers in a little white porcelain cup. A miracle it didn't shatter for how her hands shook even now. Still, he waited. Typically, they would speak for themselves if he only showed he was willing to listen.

"I d-don't like sleeping alone, because then I feel like I'm gonna get robbed like the old days, you know? But I can't, I _can't_ sleep near them, either. I know they're not going t'hurt me. I know that." She stared into the mug, blinking away tears that rippled the surface as they fell in. "But I start t'fall asleep and my mind goes all foggy, and then I'm not _thinking_ right and I hear them and it doesn't, my mind doesn't know they're my Brothers, it just hears that they're…"

A threat.

He had never known life on the streets. As a vampire he scavenged, yes, hunted and prowled like a wild animal in Vvardenfell until the merciful hand of their Night Mother found him, but even then he wanted for little, and was challenged by none. But for a young girl, parentless, prospectless – she must have been at the mercy of the city.

And the city, he suspected, had little mercy to give.

"I close my eyes and I'm back in the prison, and sometimes, you know? Sometimes I hope my first contract, m-my first _real_ contract, will be back there, because I'd make them all _suffer._ " A vicious hiss, even through tears, until her voice cracked and fell fragile. "I could. I really _could,_ you know."

"I well know, Sister."

"It's so _stupid._ I _know_ I'm safe here, I kn- _know_ , I'm not even going to spar with the stupid boys, Ocheeva said I don't have to until I'm ready but – "

"Antoinetta. There is nothing foolish in what you're feeling."

She paused at that, staring up, brow furrowed.

"It is an instinct, honed by your wish to survive. To protect yourself. Those instincts will serve you well, and Sithis in turn, if you let them."

Her lips parted. No sound, but a hesitant nod, tears beginning to stem.

"In time we shall help you learn to control these instincts, rather than have them control you. In time, you will find yourself at ease with your Family. But you must be patient with yourself."

A little pout, almost enough to make him chuckle in its petulance. "I hu- _hate_ being patient."

"Ah, but it is an assassin's greatest virtue." He made a point of topping off her cooling tea, surveying her as she drowned a watery giggle in a sip.

"Is, is that what you tell _all_ the new recruits?"

At that, a crooked smile shown through. "The ones that need to hear it, yes." He allowed a pause, a moment for her to collect her thoughts, before continuing. "I will speak with Ocheeva. I'm certain we can rearrange things to have you further from the men. Perhaps beside Telaendril. And I do suggest a tea before bed, to settle your nerves further. It may help prevent night-terrors, as well."

There was a guilty little wince at that. They'd all heard her screams, the first night she awoke in a strange bed, to strange faces. They hadn't returned, but a pinch of preventative…

"…Okay."

She seemed soothed now, at least. He could barely begin to address the hurt she must have held inside her, but it was a beginning. In time she would adjust to her life here and find peace in her work. Peace in certainty, in belonging. In the security of a home, and a Family.

She had nearly finished her tea when she perked up, frowning, slowly tilting her head towards him. He'd begun work at his desk now, meeting her gaze when he felt it. A blink and she seemed to search again.

"I…" She pushed away the last of her tea. "It's so _quiet_ in here."

The scratch of his quill came to a halt. Very, very faintly, he could detect the distant sounds of the others in this home they shared. And that, only thanks to his vampiric senses. To her, the room must have seemed impossibly silent.

Her eyes widened, realization settling in. "… You don't breathe at _all_ , do you?"

A soft chuckle. "I lost the habit some three centuries ago. I can, if I so wish to, but it seemed prudent to take advantage of my new strength and learn to – ah hah, ' _live',_ without it."

She seemed to accept that, nodding, glancing back at her emptied mug. Then, hesitantly. "Vicente – Brother?"

"Yes?"

"Maybe – if I could, if I could take a bedroll in here, do you think…" Meek, her voice, meek and hesitant and flinching from expected rejection. "Just for tonight, maybe I could sleep in here?"

He considered it for a long moment as she waited, chewing her lip. Only to speak did he draw breath, nodding. "For tonight. Tomorrow, we'll see about arranging things to better suit your needs."

That delicate little smile grew as her shoulders slumped in relief. "Thanks. Thank you, Vicente."

"Go fetch your bedroll, then."

It wasn't long until she was curled up there by the little hearth, practically swaddled in her blanket and snoring softly. Sleeping on the floor didn't seem to bother her – undoubtedly this was more comfortable than her usual shelters, in her old life. Warm and dry and safe.

She'd adjust. They all had. And even if some fears, some nightmares never truly faded – and he knew too well those images of horror, haunting his rest – even if they never left her entirely, she had a home now. A Family.

And perhaps, now, some sweeter dreams.


End file.
